It was still hard to be philosophical about it, especially after Wiidfare's latest attempt to drag NAPD into permit trading, and Tatian found his thoughts drifting away from the contract details, wondered instead if there was any way to avoid Temelathe's levies. There was plenty of opposition to the Most Important Man, the presance at the Stiller baanket had been ample proof of that; maybe there was a way the pharmaceuticals could use that opposition to force Temelathe to take less. He shook himself then, scowling at the screens. First, the pharmaceuticals wouldn't cooperate if it affected their profits, and, second, the Modernists made no particular distinction between one company and another. All he would do is get himself kicked off the planet, and NAPD either banned entirely or at best severely restricted. He thumbed the selection menu and called up the file of contracts waiting for renewal. Without the implants, checking them would be a tedious business. Tatian eyed the first screen without eagerness and was grateful when the intercom buzzed.
"Yes?"
"Ser Mhyre." It was Derebought's voice and the formal tone and title she used to warn him of something out of the ordinary. "There's someone to see you, if you're free. Mir Warreven--the Stiller seraaliste."
Tatian stared at his desktop without seeing the open screens, mind racing. Warreven had mentioned the Stiller surplus--which rumor said was considerable--at the dance house, Shinbone; unfortunately, any offer was almost certain to come with strings attached, strings that led directly to Shan Reiss and his withdrawn statement. Tatian suppressed the memory of Reiss's face when he'd heard the ultimatum, the expression of frantic guilt, and touched the intercom. He would be foolish not to listen to what Warreven had to say--and beside, he admitted, silently, I'm curious. "I'm free. Show 3im in, Derry, please."
"Right away."
Tatian blanked his screens--though there wasn't much point; copies of the same documents would be sitting on Warreven's desk already--and the door opened. Derebought said, "Mir Warreven."
Warreven nodded 3er thanks and stepped past her into the office, holding out 3er hand in off-world greeting. Tatian leaned across the desk to take it and was aware again of the jewelry, thick hoop earrings, half a dozen metal bracelets, and even the long necklace was more metal than glass. Warreven was, at a conservative guess, wearing half an ordinary indigene's yearly income: it was a sobering reminder of 3er importance, and Tatian guessed, a deliberate one.
"Shall I make up a tray?" Derebought asked, and Tatian looked past Warreven to see the botanist frowning slightly. Her message was clear: this was an important person and an important meeting; the traditional amenities should be observed.
"Please," Tatian answered, though he doubted someone as assimilated as Warreven would be unduly impressed by anything NAPD could provide, and gestured for the indigene to take the visitor's chair.
"Thanks," Warreven said, with a glance over 3er shoulder that included Derebought, and sat down opposite Tatian.
Tatian reseated himself at the desk, glancing again at Warreven. The seraaliste was dressed much as 3e had been at the dance house, a soft silk tunic over soft trousers, all expensively casual, and 3er thick hair had been pulled back into a single braid. The planes of 3er face looked harder without the mane of hair; Tatian was suddenly aware of the shadows under 3er eyes, and the lines just beginning at the corners of 3er mouth. Ȝe was unexpectedly attractive--handsome rather than beautiful, but still the classic herm looks--not to his usual taste, and Tatian looked down at the empty desktop to break his stare. This had happened before, and not just on Hara, would happen again. Herms and women shared some physical attributes; it was easy to be attracted to the "feminine" aspects of a herm, and ridiculous to think of acting on that attraction. "What can I do for you, Mir Warreven?"
"I hope quite a lot," Warreven answered, "as I hope I can do something for you. I understand you've already been buying from Stiller?"
"Mesnie contracts only."
"I wonder if you're still interested--or able--to buy?" Warreven tilted 3er head to one side, wide-set eyes narrowed slightly, as though 3e might smile. The door opened then, and Derebought came in, carrying a tray laden with imported coffee and a triple jug of liquertie. Tatian's eyes narrowed for an instant, inspecting the offering. Derebought knew the traditional proprieties better than anyone else on NAPD's staff--that was the reason she was responsible for these social duties, though it always gave Tatian an odd feeling to see the botanist handling protocol--and she was saying, as clearly as if she had spoken aloud, that Warreven was very important indeed.
"Liquertie, mir?" Derebought said, to Warreven. "Or perhaps coffee?"
Tatian let the ritual wash over him, wondering just what Warreven wanted. No, that's obvious, 3e wants Reiss's statement; the real question is what 3e'll offer to get it. Or maybe I'm misreading the whole situation, and 3e' sjust here for the harvest. Derebought wouldn't have brought out coffee if she didn't think a deal was a solid possibility. He accepted a cup of the coffee--the real thing, imported from Atalanta, too expensive to drink more than once a week--and waited until the door had closed again behind Derebought. "NAPD is usually able to acquire worthwhile items, either craft or harvest. Do you--does Stiller, forgive me--have something on offer?"
Warreven smiled. "The harvest has been good this year generally, which you know, and the Westaern sea-harvest particularly so. Which you also know. Stiller has significant surplus, and the mesnies have agreed that it should be placed on offer in a single lot, to be handled by the seraaliste. I wondered if NAPD would be interested."
Tatian blinked. The sea-harvest had been unusually good; if Stiller was offering the entire surplus as a single block, the harvest was likely to be extraordinary. Reiss's statement wouldn't be an unreasonable payment, for such an unheard-of offer. He put that thought aside and said cautiously, "We're interested, of course. But I understood your contract was with Kerendach."
"The mesnies have voted me full bargaining rights," Warreven answered. "In effect, it's mine to do with as I please, and I'm not fully satisfied with Kerendach right now."
Plus you want something from me, Tatian thought. He said, "As I said, we're always interested. I'd like to see some details first, of course. Then I can make a rough offer."
Warreven set an old-style disk on the desktop and slid it past the tray of liquerties. "I think everything you'll want is there. I'll be frank with you, I would go to one of the Big Six, but they tend to stick together. I doubt they'd offer me much more than Kerendach would, and that hasn't been adequate for less." Ȝe hesitated, as though 3e would say more, then leaned back in 3er chair.
Tatian took the disk, then ran his hand over the shadowscreen to activate the multiformat reader. He slipped the disk into the cradle, and there was a pause while the system sorted through competing formats. Then the first of the summaries flipped into view. It was enough to make him catch his breath--that block alone would increase NAPD's potential income by about a tenth of the current total--and he paged quickly through the file, dizzying himself with the possibilities. Warreven was offering broad-leaf kelp, and cutgrass and wideweb, the staples of the Haran sea-harvest, but 3e was also offering crumbling coral, coral fish, and even half a dozen false-kelp holdfasts. Those were worth over a thousand concord dollars apiece, more if they were close to whole: the false-kelp grew too deep for Haran divers easily to reach its base, and in any case, harvesting the holdfast killed the plant. Most of the holdfasts that reached the off-world markets came from storm wrack, and the Big Six bought and sold most of them; for Warreven to be able to offer six as surplus was extraordinary--and a tribute to the negotiating skills of the previous year's seraaliste, who had set the contract quotas with Kerendach. It also made it easier to contemplate giving Warreven the extras 3e was sure to want. Tatian paged slowly back to the top of the file, imagining the Old Dame's response to this bounty, and said, "Has Kerendach made an offer, or are we getting first chance?"
"They have a standing offer for surplus," Warreven said. "It's in the
secondary file."
Tatian flipped that open, eyebrows rising. "It seems--less than generous," he said at last. In point of fact, it was ridiculously low for the surplus of an excellent harvest, and he wondered who at Kerendach had made the tactical error. If it had been his business, he would have doubled the standing offer sight unseen--but somebody had been operating on the assumption that Warreven's inexperience amounted to stupidity. "I think we could--would-- better it."
Warreven smiled again. "There is another matter, of course."
Tatian matched the smile. "Of course." And here we go, he thought. Shan Reiss's statement for the chance to bid on the surplus, which is one of the best block offers I've ever seen--except that I've been told explicitly, by the Concord agency, that letting Reiss testify can do most to ruin my company, that I cannot not let Reiss get involved in this case. "Reiss?"
"Reiss." Warreven looked at him, suddenly serious, face gone from exotic beauty to sudden stony gravity in one of the instant changes so typical of a herm. "I owe my partners this one last thing. It seems a fair trade, the statement for your chance at our surplus."
Tatian didn't answer for a moment, marshaling his own arguments. "I'm not autonomous, you know. And my ultimate boss has made it very clear that none of us on Hara are to get involved in trade. That includes Reiss."
"So Reiss said," Warreven answered. "But this needn't be a question of trade. Reiss is a Black Casnot by courtesy and custom, and so is Destany--the person in question. It's Reiss's obligation to speak for him, since he can give testimony that would be useful, not a matter of trade at all, since Destany hasn't done trade for seven, eight years--local years, too. I don't know how many kilohours. I'm sure NAPD is quick enough to make use of Reiss's kinship when it's convenient; this is the other side of that obligation."
That was accurate enough, Tatian admitted, he had made good use of Reiss's myriad connections, friends and relatives and clan-cousins all up and down the Main Continent, but kept his face without expression. "It's not just my boss. The IDCA will see this as trade, and they've already said they'll put a stop to it."
"IDCA profits from trade themselves," Warreven said, with the hint of an old bitterness. "They're not going to give that up without a fight."
"That's not true," Tatian said involuntarily, and wanted to take back the words as soon as they were spoken. That was an old charge among the indigenes; nothing any off-worlder said to contradict it seemed to convince them, and there was no point in antagonizing 3im over such an ancient grievance.
Warreven said, "IDCA does profit from trade, or do only direct payments count? It's trade that makes all the permits so profitable, that lets them keep, what, over two hundred people on planet, on their payroll; if it wasn't for trade, they'd be the same size as Customs, what's that, fifty people? And don't tell me that some of that two hundred don't take payments to look the other way, pass questionable documents, little things like that. Why shouldn't they, when their bosses play trade with Temelathe to justify their existence?"
"The IDCA is here to protect all of us, you as well as us," Tatian said, goaded. "You may not have HIVs now, but let one person in with just the right strain, and your immunity may not last."
"It hasn't happened yet," Warreven answered, but 3er anger was fading as quickly as it had flared. "No, I understand how the mutations work, I understand that whatever it is that's keeping us safe may not always work, but at the same time, IDCA is using that excuse to keep us trapped here. We can't win. Anyone who wants to go off-world, unless they're connected to one of the corporations, they're assumed to have done trade, and so there's a forty kilohour waiting period, that's over three years, before they'll even consider the application, which they can enforce because we're not fully of the Concord and the Colonial Committee agrees with IDCA. And all the while, trade goes on. And there still aren't any HIVs on Hara."
It was obviously an argument 3e'd made many times before. Tatian stared at 3im, admitting the justice of the argument--though he doubted the IDCA was doing it deliberately. Or not fully so: their mandate was to control the spread of infectious disease between star systems, the HIVs primarily, but all the lesser plagues as well, and their people could be blind to other issues in that all-consuming pursuit. "Which is why the Modernists want Hara to join the Concord," he said aloud, and Warreven gave a flickering grin.
"Well, it's why I support the Modernists," 3e said.
"And why Temelathe opposes them?" Tatian asked.
"Oh, nothing so subtle," Warreven answered. "No one ever gives up power willingly, not power like his."
"And Tendlathe?"
Warreven hesitated. "Tendlathe is subtler," 3e said, after a moment. "Sometimes, in some ways, or maybe he's just more convoluted. But the main thing is, he doesn't like change. And this, you must admit, would be a big change."
"It's Tendlathe the IDCA are worried about," Tatian said bluntly. He hadn't meant to tell the other that, still wasn't sure it was smart--but he was sure that they would be better off dealing honestly.
Warreven tilted 3er head to one side. "How? I mean, Temelathe is the Speaker, Ten--Tendlathe won't have real power until he dies."
"They--the IDCA--think that if you push this case, Tendlathe will be able use it to whip up feeling against us. And, frankly, we don't need that. I don't need that."
Warreven made a soft hissing sound through 3er teeth. "Ten doesn't have that much support--most people know where the metal comes from, and it's not from Tendlathe. And besides--" Ȝe broke off, shrugging, looked vaguely uncomfortable. "I'm not fond of 'Aukai, and I don't know Destany, but it's not right, what IDCA's doing to them."
That last was true enough, Tatian thought, but he wasn't so sure about the former. He had seen Tendlathe's face when the dancers had unfurled their banner, seen the tight fury, barely contained. Even without broad-based support, that anger could be dangerous, and he wondered if Warreven wasn't underestimating the other man's power, or at least his willingness to use it. Or maybe not: if Jhirad had þis story right, and be usually did, Warreven knew Tendlathe very well indeed. He looked back at the desktop screen, at the open files that showed the list of the Stiller summer surplus. He hadn't liked the IDCA's interference, not in pharmaceutical business--not in Reiss's business, not something that was so blatantly political, the IDCA reaching for more control over the indigenes who played trade--and the numbers and symbols that danced on his screen were more than enough to make it worth pursuing at least a little further. "Given the issues," he said, "I'll have to confirm any offer with my boss. I can say that we're very interested."
Warreven nodded. "I can accept that, certainly. I'm not--unaware--of the potential awkwardness of your position. But I'll need to know something soon."
"How soon?"
"Within the week," Warreven answered. "Or I will need to explain why I'm not taking the block elsewhere."
"That's acceptable."
"Good." Warreven pushed 3imself up out of the chair. Tatian copied him and leaned across the desk to offer his hand. Warreven's fingers were almost cold, startling in the Haran warmth. "I'll look forward to hearing from you."
Tatian remained standing as the door closed behind 3im, still unable quite to believe in what he'd been offered. The best of the end-of-season, more and better than anything NAPD had been able to find on its own, more than they'd ever been offered by anyone--but at a price that might well prove impossible. He heard the outer door close and saw, through the half-closed sun shutters, Warreven walking away across the courtyard, the thick braid of 3er hair swaying against the rich green silk like the tail of a stalking cat. And I wish I knew for certain, Tatian thought, that what 3e was hunting wasn't us.
He looked back at the files on the desktop and reached for the intercom button. "Derry? Mats? Come in here a minute, please."
The door slid open almost at once, as though they had been waiting for the summons--which, Tatian added silently, they probably had.
"Do we have an offer,
then?" Derebought asked, and at Tatian's gestured invitation, seated herself in the client's chair. Lanhoss Mats leaned over her shoulder, long boned and loose jointed, the skin of his hands and face marked with faint scars where incipient sun-tumors had been cut away.
"We have an offer," Tatian said, and knew he sounded less than enthusiastic. He touched the shadowscreen, created a copy of Warreven's file, and dumped it to the free drive. "It's a very good offer, in fact. Stiller's selling the end-of-season surplus as a single block." He pulled the button with its embedded copy out of the drive and tossed it to Derebought, who caught it by reflex. "Take a look at this, see what you think. Give everything a tentative grade and a going price, and get back to me. As soon as you can, please."
Derebought nodded. "I didn't think they could make bulk offers, I thought the Big Six wrote their contracts to prevent it."
"That's not our problem," Tatian answered. "If Warreven says 3e can sell, we can buy."
"Kerendach won't like it," Mats said.
"If this flies," Tatian said, "we won't have to worry about Kerendach." Kerendach is the least of our worries, he added silently. Just the IDC A and Tendlathe--which ought to be enough for anyone.
Shadow Man (Paragons of Queer Speculative Fiction) Page 17
